


Deal with the Devil

by lola381pce



Series: Imagine Clint Coulson Prompts [10]
Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Agent!Coulson, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Religious, Angst, Angst and Feels, Blood, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Canon-Typical Violence, Deal With the Devil, M/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Religious Discussion, Tumblr Prompt, Tumblr: imagineclintcoulson, devil!Clint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-26
Updated: 2017-06-26
Packaged: 2018-11-18 13:04:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11291268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lola381pce/pseuds/lola381pce
Summary: For an anonymous Imagine Clint Coulson prompt:"Phil makes a deal with the devil for the greater good. Clint is the devil who has been lonely for thousands of years."





	Deal with the Devil

**Author's Note:**

> We are always accepting new prompts at our tumblr account, so feel free to drop by with a little headcanon or ask.
> 
> Many thanks to embraceyourfandom, avidreader6 & yakkorat for their comments, encouragement and "bouncing" enthusiasm for this fic. You gave me a lot to think and write about. I hope it lives up to your expectations. And, of course yours, Anon. Thanks for the great prompt.
> 
> There’s some canon typical violence and mentions of blood but nothing too graphic. Hope you enjoy.

As he reloads his weapon, the SHIELD agent flicks his eyes up to take a quick scan around the village. It’s not good. His mouth is turned down in grim determination; despair is slowly creeping up on him but he’s holding it off… for now. Half his team has been wiped out in the first assault. The rest, like him, are covered in blood and sweat and dirt doing their best to keep themselves and the civilians alive. And, more importantly, to keep the 0-8-4 out of enemy hands. Alien hands. Hands that would use it to destroy worlds including his own.

So far they’ve held their defensive position such as it is, but it’s getting harder with each new attack. The alien forces are greater in number and don’t seem to care much about the loss of life amongst their own. Apparently the 0-8-4 holds more value.

Although SHIELD reinforcements are on their way, instinctively he knows they won't reach them in time. The battle is almost over. Almost lost.

He has the artefact. He has explosives. He’ll die on his own terms when the time comes.

He’s not concerned for himself but for his agents and the innocents who have been dragged into this thanks to being in the wrong place at the wrong time. He almost laughs. This village is their home. How could it possibly be the wrong place at the wrong time? And yet it is. The terrified screams and shouts of the injured; the grunts of pain and exertion from those still in the struggle tell him that. The smell of weapon fire and burning buildings in his nostrils and the iron tang of blood in the back of his throat _all_ tell him that. As does the constant ache of his body. He’s wounded in more than one place but he ignores the pain as best he can. He has to. He has more urgent things to worry about.

The agent wipes away a trickle of sweat from his temple, smearing more blood and dirt into the skin and takes up a firing stance again.

It’s his fault. It’s SHIELD’s fault. SHIELD stepped in to retrieve an object of unknown origin, one that has been successfully hidden for thousands of years, and pulled them into this battle. Actually, that’s a little simplistic. It was already _in_ enemy hands and SHIELD had been in the process of getting it back but they’d fucked up. They’d fucked up by bringing the artefact here en route to The Slingshot and they’d been intercepted. That’s why the agent and his team had been called in. To unfuck a fuck up. But it was too late. The damage was done.

He sees another villager fall along side one of his agents. He’s had enough now. Physically he can do no more.

“Help me. Please,” he begs. He’s not sure upon whom he’s calling to broker a deal but at this point any deity who has the power to grant his wish will do. He’ll deal with the Devil if he has to. “Help me keep them safe and I’ll do anything you want. It’s not much of a trade but… you can have my life for theirs.”

At his words everything goes still and silent around him; frozen in time. Everything except him.

From the shadows he sees movement and spins towards it with his gun raised. It’s a man and yet it’s not. Not with those eyes. Crimson and alive with fire.

“You think that’s enough? Your life for all these souls?” the stranger asks, gesturing with his hand in a sweeping motion at the carnage around him. He walks slowly towards the SHIELD agent through the debris, stepping over the dead and the dying.

“I know it’s not,” the agent replies calmly. He feels anything but calm but he knows how to hide it. His gun, surprisingly steady in his hands, is still aimed in the stranger’s direction. For all the good it would do. “But it’s all I have to give.”

“Is it?”

The stranger pauses and looks at him for a moment. The intensity of his gaze makes the SHIELD agent feel cold and and warm all at once; an odd sensation but not entirely unpleasant. As the stranger nears, the man notes his eyes are no longer red but a swirl of colours - blue/green/grey - set in a face that, while not exactly handsome, is one he knows he’d never tire of. Rugged and lived in. A face that’s witnessed much. A face that makes him catch his breath. Huh! Perhaps it is handsome after all.

The stranger is suddenly in front of him, standing an inch or so taller forcing the agent to lower his Glock and lift his eyes to look back at him.

“That’s what’s in your heart? That you want to give your life for these people?”

The agent maintains eye contact for a moment then with a sad weariness, drops his gaze and gives a single shake of his head. He doesn’t want to give up his life. But he will.

“Then tell me, Phil Coulson. Tell me what you truly desire.” His eyes flash red, his voice purrs seductively.

It doesn’t surprise him, that the stranger knows his name. He feels his soul being dragged to the edge of its tethers by the Devil’s gaze; for it _is_ the Devil he’s summoned, isn’t it? It’s certainly not God. He knows that much.

It’s not wise to pursue this - _be careful what you wish for_ \- springs to mind but he considers the invitation anyway. What does he truly desire? Once again he almost laughs. He knows _exactly_ what he wants. Peace in the nine realms so he doesn’t have to do this shit any more. So that he can have room in his life for something other than work. So that he can _have_ a life and… maybe someone to share it with. Someone to make him cry with joy rather than despair; to hold him because they want to rather than to stop him bleeding out; to make him scream in ecstasy instead of frustration. Someone to save him from himself.

The hell with it. He’s damned in this life anyway. And he so, so tired.

“An end to this,” Coulson says, his exhaustion and discomfort evident as he nods at the scene before him. Blood drips off his fingertips from the wound in his arm. “An end to the pain and suffering we brought to these people.”

The Devil believes it’s what he wants but not what he desires. There’s an emptiness in him, this soldier. A longing that’s been left untouched. The Devil recognises it because he knows it. It resides within him also. It almost distracts him, this realisation. Almost.

“Why? I ask you for that which you wish above all else and you want to end the pain and suffering of people who don’t know you. Who could care less about you.”

“It doesn’t matter if they don’t know who I am. I’m trying to right a wrong here,” Coulson protests. This time there’s heat in his voice as he speaks. A passion that the Devil is, quite frankly, envious of.

He’s both fascinated and tempted. He sees something, _feels_ something that he can’t quite explain. Perhaps it’s because he looked in on this human from time to time watching him grow. From squalling infant, to awkward teen, to strong soldier. To the man before him willing to take on the Devil himself. He’s a brave one… or foolish.

“It’s not a wrong of your making,” the Devil argues, casually leaning against the wall that’s been protecting the agent. He folds his arms across his chest stretching the material of his perfectly tailored suit across his shoulders, wide and strong. It’s a gesture he knows well; he’s seen his agent do it on many an occasion.

“Not directly.” Coulson’s voice is soft again. “But… it’s a wrong that I’m caught up in nonetheless.”

Foolish then. Or perhaps with this mortal, they’re one and the same. Trying to right a wrong. It’s typical of him. Oh he’s seen another side to this man. The one that threatens and cajoles… and kills. But it’s the self-sacrificing side that makes the Devil want him all the more. 

“You’re a fool, Coulson. Giving your life, your immortal soul for those who value not what you do for them.”

Sapped of energy, Coulson joins him to lean against the wall. He drops his head forward and gives a small self-depreciating laugh finally accepting the absurdity of his situation - in the midst of a battle with beings from another world, he’s arguing for humanity with Lucifer. How is this his life? He tilts his head towards the Devil and smiles causing the corners of his eyes to crinkle.

“Perhaps,” he agrees. “But you asked what I desired, now… you have my answer.”

The Devil turns to stare at him for a long moment. It’s a lie. Plain and simple, it’s a lie. A partial one, but one nonetheless. He’s never had someone resist the question before. Normally humans spew forth demands of money, or fame, or revenge, or lust… the list is infinite and selfish.

There are, of course, those who plead for a loved one; willing to offer their soul to save a dying lover or parent or friend. But this one pleads for humans he doesn’t even know. It shouldn’t surprise him. It doesn’t really.

He unfolds his arms and runs a hand through his blond spiky hair, coming to rest on the back of his neck. It could be seen as self-conscious but one thing the Devil is not lacking is assertiveness. It’s merely another gesture he’s picked up from some human at one time or another.

“You really believe they’re worth it? With all their flaws?”

Coulson doesn’t hesitate. “I do.”

The Devil admires his seemingly unshakeable conviction. To him mankind is irredeemable; their capacity for innovative and unending cruelty against each other far exceeds anything a demon in Hell could come up with. But to Coulson they’re worth saving. Worth giving his life for. And really, what is it to him if this mortal wishes to throw away his life on them?

And suddenly it dawns on him. It’s everything.

He doesn’t want to lose this man’s soul to the depths of Hell (or worse, for it to be plucked from this realm and carried into Heaven). He wants to keep him for himself. That’s his desire. All he has to do is convince Coulson. Ha! If only it was so easy.

He recalls the exact words of Coulson’s bargain:

“ _Help me keep them safe and I’ll do anything you want. It’s not much of a trade but… you can have my life for theirs._ ”

And he has it. He’s had it all along. He was just focusing on the wrong part of it. “… _I’ll do anything you want_.”

“You may keep your life, Phil Coulson but, I would like to make another bargain with you. I’ve been alone a long time. Millennia. I wish a companion to share the passage of time. I’ve watched you for the blink of an eye; from a babe to the man you are now and it would please me to have you by my side. Agree to that and I’ll give you what you ask. You can have an end to the pain and suffering of these people.”

Coulson’s stunned by the Devil’s admission. Why would an angel, fallen or otherwise, want _him_? Phil Coulson. He’s nobody. The Devil’s already said it himself. People don’t know him; they’re barely aware of his existence. Even his codename at SHIELD, The Chameleon, suggests what an invisible man he is. He blends into the background. Hides in plain sight. His marks very rarely remember him unless he wants them to. It’s a carefully cultivated persona. He’s worked hard at being instantly forgettable and it’s served him well usually getting him exactly what he wants. And this time he does laugh, bitter and mirthless. Maybe the Devil and he are not so different after all - well suited in fact. The Devil’s just more accomplished. He’s curious about something else though.

“You speak of time in millennia and the blink of an eye. One I can’t comprehend; the other… I see all too often. This arrangement… how long would last?”

“Eternity,” the Devil tells him with a shrug, nonchalantly turning his gaze from Coulson.

“That’s a long time,” Coulson admits. “Longer than millennia, right?”

“Or until I tire of you,” the Devil replies, tilting his head to look up through his eyelashes at Coulson with a sly smirk playing on his lips. He caught Coulson’s lame attempt at humour and it amuses him.

“Ah. That’s a timescale I can understand,” Coulson says, the corner of his mouth turning up in a half-smile. “Although… it may come sooner than you think.”

“You underestimate my capacity for patience. For understanding.”

“Or perhaps your loneliness.”

The Devil’s eyes revert to crimson as he studies Coulson, scrutinises him with a look so intense it feels to Coulson as though he’s in his head reading his thoughts and feelings. His desires. His fears. Everything that makes him…. him.

He swallows slowly. He’s afraid. Hell he’s fucking terrified but he’s also intrigued. His life has always been one of danger, of living on the edge, and he’s always met it head on. But he’s talking about giving his soul to the Devil. For the greater good perhaps but it’s still his soul. To live an eternity with Lucifer, the Fallen Angel. The bringer of temptation and evil.

And yet he doesn’t feel any sense of it. Of evil. And he’s experienced true wickedness many a time. Power; yes. Mischief; undoubtedly. Loneliness; without question. But evil? Not so much.

“What would you have me do in Hell? If I were to agree,” he adds quickly. He maybe tired and in pain but he’s not stupid.

“In Hell?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh you misunderstand, Coulson. I don’t want you in Hell. I want your presence beside me. I want you to walk with me. Talk with me. Argue for humanity with me.”

Again, Coulson is taken aback. He didn’t expect this. Any of this. How can he possibly know if this is what he wants? But again his curiosity gets the better of him.

“Why do you make people to what they do? Why do you punish them, torment them when they do it?”

The Devil smiles. It’s not the first time he’s been asked either question.

“I don’t make them _do_ anything. My Father gave mortals free will. They have choices, forks in the road, decisions between good and evil. However you see it, whatever you want to call it. But when they’re caught doing wrong, they say “The Devil made me do it.” as though I forced them into committing their unspeakable acts. But there _is_ no angel - good or fallen - sitting on their shoulder whispering in their ear.

No, Coulson, that’s not what I do. I make them confess what’s truly in their hearts and help them realise their desires. That is true. The rest is all them. No god or demon can be as cruel as mankind. One of your poets said it well - “ _Man’s inhumanity to man_.” Their choices belong to themselves; they just don’t like to admit it.

As for punishment. Their own guilt punishes them. They suffer because they believe they should. Not because of me.”

He gives Coulson a sideways glance. “But you know that already.”

This time Coulson holds his gaze. He _does_ know that. He continues the Devil’s quote from Burns poem in his head. ” _Man’s inhumanity to man makes countless thousands mourn_ ”. He’s seen it so often and he has wept because of it. But he’s seen such wonders too. Humanity has the potential to be remarkable. It can create such beauty, pull together in times of crises, invent life-saving and life-enhancing devices, be capable of such brilliance. Humanity is so fragile but so resilient. Perhaps it does need a champion. Someone to fight for it.

“Death is getting restless. Time for you to call it, Coulson,” the Devil tells him gently, breaking into his thoughts.

“If I’m to keep my life today, when will you come for me?”

“When your time is called.”

Coulson rolls his eyes. Bloody gods and devils and their cryptic pronouncements.

“The others?” he asks hopefully.

“I cannot give you back those who are already gone. Death’s Book must balance and to do that means lives elsewhere would have to be taken. I don’t believe that’s something you would want.”

Coulson nods in understanding and agreement. He doesn’t want to be responsible for the loss of further innocent lives. He’s saddened by the lost of his agents, some of whom he called friend, but he accepts the price.

“What should I call you?” Coulson asks. His words are beginning to slur. Pain and exhaustion are taking their toll on him. He slumps against the wall taking shallow breaths. The Devil reaches out to catch him as he slides down the stonework to sit heavily on the ground. His shirt sleeve and the material below his Kevlar are red, soaked through with blood. His hands are sticky with it now.

Unconcerned, the Devil considers his question. He has many names. One more won’t hurt him.

“Pick one,” he whispers, touching his hand to Coulson’s cheek in a gentle caress. “It will be yours for me alone.”

Coulson leans into his touch with a sigh, and thinks for a moment. It’s getting difficult. To think. With a brief quirk of his lips in a crooked half-smile, he murmurs, “Always liked the name Clint.”

 ~~The Devil~~ , Clint wrinkles his nose in a wide grin. “Clint it is then. Sleep now, Phil. I’ll be back for you soon enough and we’ll have all of eternity to discuss your humans and all their flaws.”

***

There have been many occasions when the SHIELD agent thought the Devil would appear; Stark Industries lab, Puente Antiguo, The Battle of New York, on board the Iliad, during the horrors of the Framework, and plenty of others… Wow! He really does lead a life of danger! 

But a decade passes by before they see each other again. He wakes in his bed in the SHIELD medical wing to the touch of a hand gently caressing his cheek. He opens his eyes slowly and sees a familiar face looking down at him. For a second the eyes flash crimson before settling into the combination of blue/green/grey he remembers from the village.

“Clint?” 

His voice is raspy from lack of use and from the removal of the respirator tube that had been helping him breathe. The machines keeping him alive have only recently been turned off and his room is blessedly quiet.

“Yes, Phil. Are you ready?” 

Clint is… nervous apparently. This is the moment when most humans try to plead their way out of the bargain. The moment he has to teach them there’s no loophole, there’s no way out out of a deal with the Devil. He sighs in relief when Phil just nods and stands beside him. 

He stares at his earthly-self in the bed, his skin pale against the white sheets. The lines of worry and stress have smoothed out and he looks at peace. His hand touches his foot briefly as though to say goodbye and after a moment he turns to Clint telling him in a quiet voice, “I’m ready.”

Clint nods and guides him away from the room.

“So… eternity, huh?” Phil gives him a sideways glance and a quick half-smile as they walk together down the corridor. No-one pays them any attention. It would appear they work seamlessly together already.

“I thought perhaps we’d try a millennium first,” Clint replies in amusement. “In case I tire of you.”

Suddenly Phil finds himself against a corridor wall, leaning forward while he tries to catch his breath. What the fuck is he doing? What has he agreed to?

Clint looks at him with concern. “What’s wrong?”

Phil gazes up at him, his face pale, his eyes wide. “I’m scared, Clint,” he whispers. 

Clint smiles. “Phil Coulson, scared?”

“Yes,” he says simply.

Clint reaches out and slides his hand along Phil’s cheek and as he did in the village, Phil leans into his touch. It calms him a little but he’s still overwhelmed.

“I can still feel you.” He’s surprised by that for some reason.

“Of course. You’re in my realm now. Everything you knew about your physical self is different here. You’ve given your soul into my keeping, Phil, and I’ll take care of it. And of you.” As he speaks Clint feels the loneliness that’s been inside him for thousands of years ease slightly. 

Slowly, Phil straightens himself again to look Clint in the eye. Clint’s words are said with great tenderness and compassion sending a wave of warmth over him. This is not what he expected at all. Obviously he has much to learn but he feels ready to do that now.

“Trust in the Devil?” Phil asks with a hint of mischief.

Clint laughs. “There’s my cool, unflappable agent. Shall we go?”

Phil nods. He’s made a deal with the Devil and he intends to honour it. It’s who he is and who he’ll always be. And the Devil? Eternity will seem like the blink of an eye now he has someone to share the passage of time. It's all he's ever wanted.


End file.
